


Just For a Night

by enchantedsleeper



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1920s Drag Ball, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Gen, Nonbinary Newt Scamander, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Trans Tina Goldstein, bisexual Queenie Goldstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchantedsleeper/pseuds/enchantedsleeper
Summary: A few months after Grindelwald's arrest, Queenie talks Tina into going dancing at a No-Maj masquerade ball in Harlem - like they used to years ago. Tina agrees in spite of herself - and finds herself dancing with a mysterious figure who seems oddly familiar.
Relationships: Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16
Collections: Expelli-gender! 2020





	Just For a Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebittermountain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebittermountain/gifts).



> Happy Expelligender, thebittermountain! I hope you enjoy the fic!

Tiredness weighs Tina’s limbs down heavily as she lets herself into the apartment after a long day at work. It’s been non-stop at work for the past few months, dealing with the aftermath of Grindelwald’s impersonation and kidnapping of Director Graves, and all of the chaos and ugly developments that followed. She’s taken to setting off early in the mornings, at sunrise if not before, and getting back late in the evening.

She still loves her (newly-restored) job at MACUSA and she wouldn’t trade the work she’s doing for anything. That doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.

“Welcome home, Teenie!” Queenie’s voice calls from within the apartment. She always knows the second that Tina steps through the door. Well, she can probably hear her thoughts approaching from a dozen yards away. Tina is reminded of trying pointlessly to sneak up on her sister when they were kids – even before Queenie had proper control over her Legilimency, she always knew that Tina was there.

“Hey, Queenie,” she calls back, waving her wand at her boots so that the laces loosen, and then twirling it so that her coat and scarf unwrap themselves from around her. Her auror uniform may be practical and comfortable – especially as far as a lot of women’s clothing goes – but it’s still good to get out of her work gear at the end of the day.

“How was work?” Queenie asks, bustling into the main room. Now that Tina inhales, she can smell the delicious aroma of cooking food. Her stomach growls. “Still busy, huh? And Director Graves, is he back to full health yet? Not quite, huh. Oh-” She laughs at whatever swims to the forefront of Tina’s mind. “But he’s still sending a stream of orders and requirements from the Maladies Ward? That sounds like him.”

Tina smiles slightly and lets Queenie carry on her one-sided conversation – well, two-sided, from her perspective. Either way, it saves Tina having to muster the energy for conversation or try and formulate the right way to phrase things.

She flicks her wand so that her clothes drape themselves over a nearby armchair. “Can I help with anything for dinner?” she asks aloud, but Queenie is already shaking her head.

“Thanks, Teenie, but it’s already done. I’m about to set the table-” and with a wave of her wand she does so, crockery and cutlery soaring from the dresser to land on the table, melted wax sloughing off the candlesticks as they light themselves. Tina could have helped with that, but she’s inwardly grateful to Queenie for taking care of even those simple spells, and her sister knows it. Tina slides into her chair as Queenie summons the food to land on serving platters, and the two of them start to dig in.

“Oh honey, thank you,” says Queenie as the thought of how delicious dinner tastes tonight crosses Tina’s mind. Tina eyes Queenie reprovingly; they’ve had the _boundaries_ conversation more times than Tina can count. Tina doesn’t mind being saved from talking now and again, but she likes to have _some_ privacy within her own mind. Queenie smiles a little, chastised.

“Sorry, you know I can’t help it, Tina.”

Tina thinks to herself – deliberately – that Queenie definitely _can_ help it, she just chooses not to, and her sister _hmph_ s and subsides into silence. Tina hides a smile and sips some water.

This lasts throughout most of the rest of dinner, and Tina is a little surprised as the silence drags on, wondering if she could have crossed a line somehow, even inside her own head. She glances over at Queenie, who of course hears the direction her sister’s thoughts have taken and avoids her gaze, but Tina can read the nervousness in Queenie’s expression. She might not be a Legilimens, but she can still read her sister better than anyone.

“All right, out with it, Queenie. What is it?” Tina asks.

Queenie jumps to her feet. “Dessert?”

Tina holds up a hand, shaking her head. “No, don’t bother on my account, I’m full-” But by the glint in Queenie’s eye she knows her sister has caught the thought of those little pastry turnovers she makes, and is already flicking her wand. Tina groans a little.

“I’m gonna be the size of a house, Queenie, if you don’t let up.”

“Oh, you do enough runnin’ around at work during the day, you won’t,” Queenie retorts. “Besides, you need to keep your strength up.”

Tina smiles as a pastry lands in front of her, drizzled with heavy cream, but she’s not put off her earlier line of inquiry. “So, what is it?”

Queenie cuts off a neat bite of her pastry before answering. “Well, I was just thinking earlier today… It’s been so long since you and I went out on the town. And with you workin’ such long hours, you could surely use a breather.”

“What did you have in mind?” Tina asks warily. It’s true, she has been thinking about how much she could use a breather, which Queenie knows, of course. But Tina’s idea of a good time is some quiet drinks at a bar downtown. Queenie’s idea is… livelier.

A little sheepishly, Queenie withdraws a brightly-coloured flyer from inside the bodice of her dress. “There’s a big civil ball happening down in Harlem tomorrow night. You know how you used to love going to those, Teenie – there’ll be all sorts of dancing and fun…”

Tina is already shaking her head. “Queenie, you know I can’t go to those balls any more. If work found out I went to a No-Maj ball— I wouldn’t just be demoted back to the Wand Permit Office, I’d be lucky to still be working for _MACUSA_.”

Queenie snorts. “I bet you the top Aurors get up to all kinds of wild capers when they’re not at work. We used to see all kinds – half of the magical community goes to those balls.”

Tina levels a stern look at her. “That doesn’t excuse it. That makes it worse if I’m among them! No, we can go out – to a _wizarding_ bar – but a ball is too much of a risk.”

“Teenie,” Queenie’s voice becomes coaxing. “Don’t you miss them? All the fun you and I used to have together? What happened to the fun-loving sister I knew, who used to stay out dancing until the dawn?”

Tina raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “She got a serious job, Queenie.”

Five years earlier, the two of them had been frequent flyers at the No-Maj drag ball scene. Those events, filled with Bohemian types, camp men and free-spirited women, had once been the only place she could dress and act like the woman she’d known she was her whole life.

Growing up, Queenie had been privy to all of Tina’s innermost thoughts, including the jarring, pervasive sense of wrongness she felt from her own body. After their parents had died, she helped Tina to feel more comfortable in little ways – to grow her hair longer, to dress in a dandyish, effete style that allowed her to express her feminine side, to obtain witch’s robes that she could wear in secret. She coaxed Tina into becoming bolder, into eventually venturing outside dressed as a woman and accompanying her on a nerve-wracking walk around Central Park.

The experience had been as terrifying as it was liberating. But not as liberating as the masquerade balls, where behind a mask and a glittering gown, you could be anybody from anywhere. They were all No-Maj balls, because wizards, tucked as they were into the secret spaces of the world, couldn’t afford to risk throwing such lavish, glittering, glorious parties. But for a few years, Queenie and Tina had lived that life by night.

Tina can’t help smiling at the memory. Though she might have been hiding her magical nature, Tina was more herself at those balls than she could ever remember being. Queenie, though she had never needed the balls to express herself in the same way that Tina did, lapped up the music and the colours and the carefree atmosphere, dancing with men and women alike.

She had been more disappointed than Tina when they stopped going. Five years ago, Queenie and Tina had discovered the existence of an experimental potion from Germany – one that could permanently alter your physical state. Its creator had been fascinated by Metamorphmagi, who “had the freedom to mould their bodies in whichever way they desired, reflecting their inward nature outwardly in a most enviable fashion.” (This was a quote from the underground magazine Queenie had found a clipping from). Rather than Polyjuice potion, which allowed the drinker to take on the form of another person, the experimental treatment could make you “no more or less than yourself, but in a true form – the person that you were born to be.”

The treatment was incredibly difficult to get hold of, and expensive, but Tina and Queenie pooled all of their savings, together with some of their late parents’ bequest, and bought a dozen vials – one to be taken each month for a year. They also began the process of changing Tina’s records and documentation to her new name: Porpentina Goldstein.

Six months into her treatment, Tina landed her first job at MACUSA as a trainee Auror. At the same time, she’d stopped going to the civil balls, not wanting to run the risk of being caught doing anything that would jeopardise her new position – despite Queenie’s protests that they had always been careful, that it shouldn’t be against the rules to have a little fun.

She does miss the person she used to be – more daring, more willing to take a chance because back then, she felt like she had very little to lose. Now it was different.

Tina regrets having had to draw a line under her ball days – she never wanted to cut herself off completely from her old life, from the place where she could truly be herself for the first time around people other than her sister. But having recently experienced what it would be like to lose everything she’d worked so hard for, however unjustly – she can’t go through that again.

“You know, when that Mr. Scamander was here, you were different,” Queenie muses innocently. Tina does not trust her sister’s tone one bit. “Bringing men home to the apartment, chasing down magical creatures… He brought out that side of you. But since he left, you’ve been so withdrawn… Do you miss him?”

“I have been busy at work,” Tina contends through gritted teeth. “I do not _miss_ New- Mr. Scamander- and his rule-breaking and his bizarre creatures.” She grabs for the flyer, eyeing the timings in bold print. “Fine. We can go – but for no more than an hour, okay? After that we can get drinks at the Jaunty Jackalope.”

If agreeing to go to the ball – _briefly_ – is what it takes to stop her sister from making insinuations about her and Newt, then Tina will do it. It’s only when Queenie’s smile turns victorious that Tina realises she’s been played for a fool.

Damn it.

* * *

By Tina’s stipulation, they arrive at the ball early, while things are quieter – though a modest crowd has already started to gather. As usual, the ball is being held at the Hamilton Lodge in Harlem, an affluent Black neighbourhood, and No-Majs of every race and background arrayed in colourful, jewel-bright outfits are dancing together. A striking dark-skinned performer in a sparkling red dress is singing on the stage. In spite of her reservations, Tina can feel the excitement and the music taking hold of her.

She and Queenie are wearing deep violet and emerald ballgowns, respectively, with matching masks, fringed with curling feathers. Queenie shoots Tina a delighted grin and grabs her by the wrist, pulling her towards the thick of the dancing.

“One hour,” Tina reminds her, but even she can’t keep up a stern façade in the face of so much gaiety and laughter. The two of them dance together, swaying anonymously in the midst of a crowd of No-Majs (and probably a few members of magical society, in all likelihood), every one of them shedding their cares and their drab daytime selves to become something else, something more – just for one night.

Tina sticks closely to Queenie, not wanting to stray too far from her sister in case it becomes harder to find (and extricate) her later, but she dances briefly with a few other glamorous individuals, all of them elaborately made-up and masked.

One dancer in particular keeps drawing her eye, though she can’t quite put her finger on the reason for it. Maybe it’s the style of their clothing. They’re wearing an all-black outfit that resembles a No-Maj suit but with a long, billowing jacket, the drape of which reminds her of a wizarding cloak. When they move, the light catches on silver thread, intricate designs woven into the garment. It’s something that looks almost magical, and Tina’s suspicions are aroused – at least that’s the excuse she makes in her mind for moving closer, beckoning Queenie with her. Her sister, flushed and high with excitement, follows her willingly, twirling her petite lady dance partner behind her.

The dancer in the black outfit has been keeping to the outskirts of the room, not mingling with the rest of the crowd. Tina wonders if they’re a first-timer. They seem to be alone, too. Leaving Queenie and her partner near the edge of the dancing, she approaches the black-clad dancer and holds out a hand. “Care to join me for this dance?” she asks.

The dancer starts slightly, looking uncertain. “Oh – I… I’m not much of a dancer,” they admit. Their voice is lilting, musical, not pitched too high or low. The accent, though – that catches Tina’s attention immediately. _Another Brit?_ she thinks wryly to herself, and she sees Queenie glance over, surprised too. _What are the odds?_

The music segues from the previous fast-paced number into a more relaxed sweet jazz tune. “C’mon, surely you can Foxtrot,” Tina urges them with a slight smile. “It’s the easiest dance in the world.”

“I- well, all right,” the dancer agrees, taking her hand and letting her lead them into the fray. Tina decides to stick to the fringes, which move slower than the middle of the room. It’s also a little easier to talk this far from the music. The dancer lets her lead, and so Tina does – she’s more than used to taking both roles in this dance.

“I couldn’t help noticing your accent,” she prompts, after they’ve fallen into something of a rhythm with the music. Contrary to their insistence, her partner is a perfectly fine dancer, better than many she’s partnered with. “Just a guess, but… you’re not from around here, are you?”

Her partner gives a wry smile underneath their black domino mask. “No, I’m from England originally. I’m travelling for work.”

“What kind of work is that?”

“I’m uh… something of a researcher. And a writer.”

Similar, then, but not the same. Although, was Tina really expecting her partner to say, _‘I’m a magical zoologist?’_ Clearly, she needs to get a grip. This person and Newt don’t even sound the same, apart from the accent. Well, and their build is similar, from what she can tell through the jacket.

Tina really needs to stop thinking about Newt.

“That sounds interesting,” she says instead. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry.” It doesn’t do to ask too many personal questions – that would defeat the object of a masquerade ball.

“I wouldn’t mind,” her dance partner says unexpectedly. “I mean, you can ask questions if you like.”

Tina casts about for something safe to ask. “Do they have balls like these, in England?” she settles on.

“I think so, but I’ve never been to one,” her partner replies. “I don’t think they’re as big as this. I’ve never seen so many dancers in one place.” They sound slightly overwhelmed.

“So, why come then?” Tina asks curiously. “Sorry, it’s just – you said you’re not much of a dancer, but you’re here, at a masquerade ball… If you’ve never been to one before, what made you want to come?”

Her partner appears to be giving it some thought. “I saw the flyer posted near the, uh, near the Woolworth building,” they reply, and Tina has to work not to show any surprise, even though her partner is talking about the building that houses MACUSA headquarters. _It’s just a coincidence_ , she tells herself again. “I had some time on my hands and I thought… well…”

They pause, and Tina waits, turning them in a neat little circle. The music has picked up the pace again, though her partner doesn’t even seem to have noticed, keeping time with the beat almost unconsciously.

“I’ve heard about events like these,” her partner says finally. “About the kind of people who come to them. Like I said, I’ve never been to an event like this in England, and… I wanted to try it. Even if it’s just for a night.”

Tina nods. She understands the impulse. Her first masquerade ball, she’d told herself it was just for one night. But after that night, she couldn’t wait to go back.

“Are you here long?” she asks.

“I, um, I actually just arrived yesterday. But I’m just passing through New York – my research is elsewhere, but I wanted to look up an old friend before I left.”

“Oh, as a surprise? That’s nice.”

“Y-yes – oh, I’m sorry.” The dancer has accidentally trodden on her feet.

“Oh, it’s okay, I-”

Tina looks down, and stops. There’s something _moving_ on the hem of her partner’s jacket. For a minute she’s sure she’s seeing things, but no – the silver designs that had caught her eye are moving. An intricately woven unicorn trots into view, followed by a swiftly-flying Occamy. Tina looks back up at her partner, accusation in her gaze.

“You know what, I think it’s time that I-”

“You’re a _wizard_ ,” Tina hisses in disbelief. They’ve come to a complete halt at the edge of the dance floor and the other dancers are having to alter their flow to move around them. A few annoyed glances are being shot their way.

“Yes, well, it takes one to know one.”

Tina huffs in exasperation. Obviously she isn’t in a position to point fingers, being a witch present at a No-Maj gathering herself, but still- “Did you have to wear a _magical jacket?”_

“The designs are only visible to onlookers who are magical themselves,” her partner mumbles. “I really wasn’t planning to run into another magic user here – it was the only formalwear I had. It was tailor-made for me by a seamstress in Thailand, really quite extraordinary magic.”

Tina might have a one-track mind lately, but she can’t think of anyone else she knows who would wear a jacket from Thailand embroidered with magical creatures. “Newt?”

Her partner – Newt – smiles ruefully, and it seems so obvious now, the familiar mouth shape beneath the black domino mask. “Hello, Tina.”

Tina has so many questions she could ask, but the one that comes out is, “So when you said you came to New York to look up an old friend, that was… me?”

“Of course,” Newt says, sounding almost surprised that she would ask. “I’m going to Florida tomorrow, there’s a matter there that I’ve been asked to consult on, but – I was planning to see you first. I stopped by MACUSA headquarters earlier-” _The flyer_ , Tina thinks, _of course_ – “-but I think you must have been… out to lunch. I was going to come back tomorrow.”

Newt gives her a quick, uncertain smile.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you write?” Tina asks, exasperated. She starts them moving again, although she’s half tempted to suggest they go outside to talk. She can’t believe that Newt is _here_. At a civil ball in Harlem. She wonders if all of that stuff about wanting to try it was true. What that could mean.

“I was hoping to surprise you.”

The words are spoken softly, with such honesty that Tina can’t be indignant any more. “Okay. Okay, I’m not mad. It’s good to see you,” she admits, biting her lip. “And you really weren’t looking for me? Here?”

Newt laughs a little. “I meant it when I said I’ve never come to one of these events before. To be honest, I was completely out of my depth until you came over.” Another quicksilver smile. “So, thank you for that.”

“You caught my eye,” Tina admits, and then wonders if she’s said too much. “It was the jacket,” she adds, and Newt chuckles again. “Also, you looked… familiar.”

“So did you,” Newt admits. “Even with the mask on. I wasn’t sure, but I hoped…”

Tina shakes her head at the both of them, meeting in a place like this, both of them trying to conceal their identities but at the same time being so obvious about who they were. “Listen. Queenie and I were going to head to a bar after this – the Jaunty Jackalope. We could have a drink? Unless you have someplace to be…”

“I would like that,” Newt says, almost before she’s finished her sentence. “I mean, yes. You can tell me all about what’s happening at MACUSA.” It’s hard to tell through the domino mask, but she thinks Newt gives her a shy glance upwards. “And maybe some other things, if we have time. I wouldn’t have expected to run into you here of all places, and… I suspect there might be a story there? I mean, on both of our parts.”

Tina looks around them at the ball, which is filling up now in earnest. She hadn’t wanted to stay long here, but now she almost wishes that they could – that they could freeze time somehow, and keep being present in this place, that for all it was created by No-Majs, feels almost magical. A place to become anyone and anything, and in the process, discover yourself. “Yeah, I think there is.”

But then again, Tina thinks that maybe she and Newt could find that place together, wherever they were.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed doing some research into 1920s drag balls for this fic. By all accounts, the 20s was an amazing time for LGBTQ+ culture (particularly in the US/New York) and it's really sad that it all came to an end with the Great Depression and the more conservative spirit that it ushered in. 
> 
> While I couldn't make everything completely historically faithful (for example, drag balls in the 20s were more commonly known as "F*g balls", but I opted to use a more modern term rather than include a slur) I tried to do my research when I could, and I highly recommend reading more about these fascinating events - particularly as they were not just LGBTQ+ friendly, but a space created and dominated by queer people of colour. I am not sure whether there were other drag balls in New York than the ones held at the Hamilton Lodge in Harlem, but that was the most well-known event, so I had Queenie and Tina (and Newt) attend that one.
> 
> \- [How Gay Culture Blossomed During the Roaring Twenties](https://www.history.com/.amp/news/gay-culture-roaring-twenties-prohibition)  
> \- [Queens and queers: The rise of drag ball culture in the 1920s](https://americanhistory.si.edu/blog/queens-and-queers-rise-drag-ball-culture-1920s)  
> \- [The Oft-Overlooked ‘Drag Balls’ of Harlem [HISTORY]](https://www.boweryboogie.com/2019/06/the-oft-overlooked-drag-balls-of-harlem-history/)
> 
> I also read a bit about UK LGBT culture in the 1920s to get a sense of what Newt would have been familiar with - specifically, this piece from the Guardian: [Pride and prejudice in the gay 1920s](https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2004/jul/03/gayrights.world)
> 
> For trans issues in the 1920s, my major source was [A Lost Piece of Trans History](https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2019/01/15/a-lost-piece-of-trans-history/) \- I based some of Tina's experiences as a trans woman in the 1920s on the story of Hans Hannah Berg, and the "underground magazine" and experimental German gender affirmation treatment are both nods to this article and the fact that the first gender affirmation surgery was conducted by a German doctor. I imagine that wizarding society is roughly on a par with Muggle/No-Maj society in terms of LGBTQ+ rights, but they are hampered by the fact that they have to keep their existence a secret, so it isn't really possible for queer wizards to gather in the same way.
> 
> Newt is nonbinary in this fic, though it's implied rather than stated outright because I don't think that the concept was well-known in the 1920s.
> 
> Finally, my source for dancing, specifically the Foxtrot: [Foxtrot Part 1: The Jazz Age Foxtrot](http://www.walternelson.com/dr/foxtrot). I've never actually done this dance but it really is easy, it's basically just walking xD


End file.
